


A beginning, a middle, and an end.

by Kizzywiggle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feelz, Fluff, Games, M/M, Riddles, Roleplay, Romance, Self-Worth Issues, Surprises, some kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle/pseuds/Kizzywiggle
Summary: James and Q, Q and James. A delicious pairing, and deserving of happy endings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are the first three fics I ever wrote, having been inspired by a treasured friend in twitter.
> 
> They were up here before, but I took them down after an artistic drama attack...I'm now putting them up as a complete-ish mini story.
> 
> To me is makes sense that Q is top!Q: I think he's just more together than James is. Also, Daniel Craig's Bond always seems so slightly lost and broken...he needs someone to care for him.

Sat alone in the enveloping inky darkness, Q scrubbed a nervous hand through his thick brown hair and wondered for approximately the millionth time what the heck he was doing.

Sure, he was a genius with the kind of laser-sharp intellect which left most people choking in the dust of his awesomeness, but when it came to…this, he was almost frighteningly, normally dumb. Q shuddered. What was worse? Feeling so mortally confused and imbecilic, or the risk he was taking? _Dammit, man,_ he thought angrily, _time to just grab life by the balls and SQUEEZE. Be more like 007!_

 _Oh, God…007._

Q's mind, used to running at a million miles an hour, ground to a shuddering halt every time he so much as thought of the suavely confident yet aloof secret agent. His perfect lips and icy blue eyes produced such conflicting feelings within Q, and when 007 tossed out those innuendoes and God-awful puns of his in Q's lab, it was all Q could do not to self-combust with lust. _I'd like to burn up Moneypenny and all those other silly cows, first!_ he bitched to himself, smiling wryly. The sound of his watch quietly beeping the hour recalled Q to himself. He straightened in his chair. Could he hear footsteps in the hallway outside? Yes, yes he could… His pulse pounded in his ears and his mouth dried as he heard a key in the lock. The door opened, but only the dimmest sliver of light broke the darkness. A deeper shadow slid round the door which closed again, almost silently.

If Q hadn't spent so many hours breaking down and reassembling handguns for the 00s, he probably wouldn't have heard the tiny 'snick' of a Walther PPK being cocked, but he had and he did. The almost unbearable levels of adrenaline flooding his body ratcheted up another notch: he stopped breathing and waited.

The barrel of the gun touched his temple; he thought it would have been cold, but it was almost body-warm from being snugged in the shoulder holster of the person holding it steadily against Q's head. Q sighed, a tiny exhalation, but it was enough.

“What the bloody hell are you doing in my flat?” _That voice!_ Q thought excitedly; deep, dark, gravelly, authoritative, seductive…he swallowed, and the tiny muscle movement pressed his temple more firmly against the barrel of the gun. Desire slowed Q's usually rapid sarcastic responses as his body tensed with anticipation.

He gathered his scattered faculties and strove for a normal tone. “Really, 007,” he snarked, “There's no call for this kind of greeting!”

The gun was suddenly removed, un-cocked, and two quick footsteps and a click saw the room flooded with light. Q blinked dazzled eyes behind the lenses of his hipster glasses.

“Q?” spat 007, disbelief all over his face. “What do you think you're doing?” He dropped into a sofa opposite where Q sat, elbows resting on his widely-spread knees, loosely-clasped hands between his thighs. Q tried to breathe deeper and pulled his gaze away from the shadowed vee where 007's legs met.

“There's been a problem at the office,” Q snapped, studying 007's face as he spoke. “We’re losing tech – highly experimental, top-secret tech. The latest item missing is a new kind of tracker. It's composed of a revolutionary skin-like material, designed to be completely undetectable while in the field. The prototype isn't active, and hasn't been field tested, but is ripe for backwards engineering, should our enemies get their hands on one. We can’t afford for that to happen under any circumstances.”

Q looked solemnly at 007, mentally cursing the genes which had saddled him with the face of a wayward, barely-pubescent angel. How he longed for a fierce countenance to scare some respect into the double-o's, most of whom persisted in treating him like a funny little office mascot. “So…” Q tailed off, looking expectantly at 007, waiting for a response.

007's gaze never wavered. Why would it? This man had survived meetings with M, assassination attempts, and far more evil and devious torturing than Q could even comprehend, always with his trademark sangfroid – he certainly wasn't going to bat an eyelid at Q's announcement. Q laughed to himself. Time to up the stakes. He stood, taking a palm-sized device from his pocket.

“I'm afraid M has requested Q branch to investigate this time,” he stated, trying to keep his voice calm and confident. “I'll require your full cooperation, 007.” When 007 merely quirked his lips, so softly pouty and at odds with the hard, lean strength of the rest of him, Q shot him a glare. “Obviously, no-one is above suspicion in this matter, and everyone must submit to investigation or face prosecution. Or worse. And, as the tech is designed to be invisible,” Q swallowed, forcing moisture into his desert-dry mouth, “You'll have to strip completely so I can scan you with this.” He gestured with the palm-device.

007 merely twitched an eyebrow, stood, and pulled his cashmere sweater over his head. “Whatever you say, Q,” he growled ironically, reaching for his belt and toeing off his shoes. He kept his laser-like gaze pinned to Q's while he stripped. Q fought to do the same, but at the sound of 007's trousers softly slithering to the floor, he couldn't help a quick look down. _God!_ he thought, as renewed lust and a deeper, darker longing unfurled within his body, _Bond really is a perfect specimen!_ “Right!” he barked, striving for a business-like tone. “Hands on your head, please, feet shoulder-width apart.” 007 complied swiftly but almost lazily, his long lean muscles expanding and contracting under skin peppered with scars from a hundred plus missions. He turned as he did so, presenting Q with an uninterrupted view of his back and his firm, round, peachy backside. Q bit his lip until he tasted blood. _Be professional!_ he chastised himself sternly.

Q flicked the device on and it hummed quietly to life. Starting with 007's soft, thick hair, he began to run the scanner over the agent’s body. “This will pick up the transmitter's signal, should it be on you,” he informed 007, as the device scanned his taut back. Q circled 007 slowly, thoroughly, while the device worked. He knelt in order to scan 007's legs, compelling himself not to give in to the urge to press a kiss or a bite to the hard flesh so temptingly within reach. _Is it the danger, the intimacy, or me, causing his response?_ Q wondered as the primal scent of an aroused, powerful male filled the air.

He shuffled on his knees behind 007 once more. Only a bit more to scan and this would be – Q jumped as the device emitted a piercing squeal. A muscle twitched in 007's buttock.

Q passed the scanner over 007's backside again, this time flicking the scanner to visual mode. There! Just in the crease under 007's left butt cheek was a telltale blue glow. Q silently congratulated himself on his foresight in making the transmitter phosphoresce under certain light. He ran his finger over the glow, feeling for the edge of the fake skin. Finding it, he pulled it none-to-gently from the agent’s body, relishing 007's indrawn breath and the flurry of goosebumps which chased across his golden skin.

Q pushed to his feet.

“What were you thinking?” he asked, rubbing the skin transmitter mindlessly between his fingertips. “Turn and face me, 007 - explain yourself!”

007 turned, lazily, hands still on his head, lips still quirked in a smile, still magnificently, emphatically aroused. His icy stare met Q's, burning brightly in an otherwise impassive face.

“I'm thinking it's been far too long since we played,” he admitted huskily. His prominent adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Q's pulse leapt.

“Oh dear, 007,” he bit out. “Stealing from the company? Not to mention topping from the bottom? You must be…truly desperate for playtime.” Q took his glasses off and put them on a side table. “Now…kneel.”

007 dropped gracefully to his knees, gaze falling respectfully to the floor.

As Q finally let himself thread a hand through 007's hair, pulling his face roughly upwards for a kiss, 007's eyes fluttered shut and he softly whispered, “Thank you, Master…”


	2. Chapter 2

James felt the flogger kissing his flesh; a thousand tiny stings placed with precise care by the hand of his Master. Restrained as he was, he could do little more than arch his back to absorb the blows and the pleasure the flogger gave him.

Then everything stopped.

Into the shocking, aching silence his Master spoke. “Pay attention, 007.”

James struggled to the surface of his awareness. “Yes, Master?”

Softness caressed his skin. He felt his Master’s breath on his neck. The next words were whispered hotly into his ear: “Have you had enough yet? Is it time to cry 'mercy'?” Master pressed a biting kiss to James’s shoulder. “Is it too much for the mighty 007 to bear? Will. You. Give. In?”

A swat to James’s naked backside made him draw a sharp breath. He twisted away, which earned him another swat.

“No, Master,” he gasped, “I'm green.”

And in truth, he was. He'd experienced true torture, both physical and psychological, at the hands of some of the most sadistic, depraved, vengeance-crazed psychopaths the world had ever seen: he bore scars on his body, mind and soul which could never be fully healed. Compared to the nights where he was dragged screaming from his sleep by memories more vile and horrendous than most people's worst nightmares, this was actually pleasurable – but the dreams were the price he paid for being who and what he was.

Bond, James Bond, was more than his name. He was more than an agent. He was a target.

Often it was James’s job to attract notice, to draw fire, in order for the invisible members of MI6 to get in and get the job done. He knew this, and gave of himself on Her Majesty’s altar gladly: he made the world safer by his sacrifice.

But no sacrifice is without cost.

007, the suave, womanising, hard-drinking, ever-quipping secret agent was as much a cover as any of the assumed names James had worn over the years. He sometimes stared into the mirror and wondered who he really was, anymore. He felt lost inside his own head. He'd struggled for years, often medicating himself with more alcohol, more women, greater risks, but he'd just ended up feeling more and more empty. Nothing in his life gave him meaning, or helped make sense of the never-ending loop of pain and cruelty he saw while saving the world. He'd come so close to giving up…

And then he'd met his match, his Master.

Buried beneath unruly hair, hipster glasses and the face of an angel was James’s salvation. The first time they'd met, Master had matched James quip for quip; he'd seen beneath James’s mask, and addressed his fears. James’s age, his usefulness, the fact he was the bullet and trigger both…in a few short minutes, the famous Bond had fallen.

Another almost affectionate swat recalled James to the present. “I'm going to unclip you, Pet,” His Master said, matching word to action. James was led to the bed and had sensation massaged into his arms. He stared into the chameleon eyes of the Master, revelling in the acceptance and love he saw there. Almost against his will, answering love welled up in James until he felt like he would overflow with it, but instead of reassuring him, the sensation made him tense up.

Master ran a teasing finger up the inside of James’s thigh, then pinched him lightly. “I wonder if you know just how beautiful your softness is, Pet,” Master said, kissing James’s torso, paying special attention to each scar and bump.

“Softness is weakness, Master,” James disagreed, sitting up. He had no time for softness, for emotion. It had taken him so long to shed the softer parts of himself, to hone himself into the perfect weapon. Softness would get him killed. This, what they did together, wasn't softness, it was…he didn't know, but it wasn't softness! James felt actual panic souring his stomach, shortening his breath.

Master sat up, his face melancholy.

“Idiot,” he whispered.

James's mind whirled. Master had used the safe word! He rolled into a crouch, and reached out a shaky hand. “What's wrong, Q?” Q fumbled for his glasses and slid them on. Immediately he looked more like the archetypal tech genius he was, rather than James’s beloved Dom, and James mourned the barrier the glasses represented. He dropped his hand into his lap. Q looked sadly into James’s face. “Do you really believe that, James? Is there no room for softness of any kind in your life? I thought we were working through this.”

“I can't be soft,” James said vehemently. “People die if I'm anything less than bloody titanium, Q! Softness _is_ weakness, I am not soft!”

Q looked away, seeming younger than ever, and he sighed out a long trembling breath. “But not here,” he said. “Nobody is going to die, here. Nobody is at risk, here. Here is where you are always going to be safe, James. Being your Master, your Dom, isn't just about the sex or the spanking: I'm your safe place! Your submission, your softness…they are precious. They are also your strength, don't you see? For a man who has been through what you have, to be able to trust a man like me to do the things I do, to trust me while you surrender? That. Is. Strength!” He raised his eyes to stare solemnly and sincerely at James. His hand came up to cup James’s jaw. “This isn't a game, love,” he sighed.

James turned to sit on the edge of the bed, hanging his head and clasping his hands between his thighs. He called upon years of self-discipline to stop himself from running out the door. "Q, I..." he fumbled his words, unable to form a coherent thought. He breathed deep and tried again. "All these years I've had to be _the_ James Bond, and it's like I'm more legend than man, now. It's not that I believe my own hype, I mean, God, I truly couldn't...! But it's like I can't turn it off anymore. And I wish I could. Being here with you, what you do to me? It's the most whole I've felt in years, Q!" James felt the hot bile of suppressed tears rising and shut up abruptly.

Q mirrored James's pose, his back towards him. When he spoke, it was so quietly that James could barely hear him.

"That first time we met, in the museum? I was so bloody nervous, I thought I'd be sick. I'd heard about you from other agents, from M, the girls in the office, I'd read your file, and I thought you'd destroy me, utterly. "And then I saw you." Q pushed to his feet, coming round the bed to kneel unexpectedly before James and look up into his eyes. He put his hands over James's. "I saw you, and what I saw wasn't this legend, this powerhouse. I saw a man lost, broken, hurting... James, I saw you. And I knew what it was you needed. Me. I'm not going to fall at your feet, or buy into the myth, but I will hold you safe, give you the space you need, and love you regardless of all the other stuff that's gone on." Q sighed, pushing himself to his feet and turning away. James thought he looked almost broken.

"Master, may I try again?" he asked. He dropped off of the bed into his submissive posture, head down, hands behind his back. He struggled with the softer emotions, but if it was a choice between facing his demons or losing the respect of his master, he knew he had to at least try. James kept his gaze on the floor, quietly breathing while he waited and hoped.

For the second time, Q's hand shaped James's jaw. 

"Look at me, love," he said firmly. 

James raised his gaze, but the glare of the light bounced off of Q's glasses and stopped him seeing his eyes. He looked anyway, seeing himself reflected instead; kneeling, impassive, protected. Q smiled, a small, tight expression with very little mirth in it. The faint pressure of his hand brought James to his feet, where he looked down at his master. At this angle he could once again see Q's changeable eyes and earnest stare. Q pulled James down for a kiss.

James had kissed and been kissed countless times - kissing was a means to an end, nothing more, which had ceased to move him long ago. Even Q's kisses normally meant little more than physical contact, or a step in their carefully choreographed dance of Dom and sub... But this kiss felt different.

Q's hands were soft on James's jaw, not holding him in place, dominating or steering him, just warm and reassuring. Q's breath shivered warmly over the skin of his cheek while his lips moved almost questioningly on James's, asking questions to which there was no right or wrong answer. This was a kiss full of acceptance and real, deep love.

James lifted hands suddenly shaking with uncertainty and put them on Q's waist. Q trembled and moved closer, sliding a hand into James's hair and the other down his chest, where he gently thumbed a nipple. James drew in a shuddering breath and broke the kiss. "What are you doing, Master?" he asked.

Q grinned impishly. "I'm trying something different, Love. What's between us doesn't always have to be about dominance and submission. Most of the time when you've made love before with others, it's been about getting something. With me it's about receiving. I want this, tonight, to be about sharing. Neither of us in charge, James."

The damned panicky feelings rose up again, and James paled. "I don't know if I can do that, Master," he whispered.

Q ran his thumb over James's nipple again. "You can only try," he said, and drew James back to the bed where they sat down. Q lay back on his elbows. "Come on then," he grinned, and ran his hands down his torso teasingly. James lay next to Q on his side and echoed his movement. Q's skin goosebumped in the wake of James's hand, which for some reason, James found fascinating, so he did it again. Q's nipples tightened into small hard points, and James leaned over to gently lick one. Q collapsed back flat and held James's head closely to his chest. "Do that again, love," he begged. James complied happily.

He nibbled a path up Q's chest to his jaw where he licked and sucked his way across to Q's smiling mouth. He kissed him deeply, saying with his body the things he wasn't able to say with his words. He couldn't be soft, it wasn't in him, but just maybe he could be flexible. James moved over Q's body holding his weight on his arms. Q stroked James's biceps and made a growling noise in his throat. James eyed him questioningly. "What?" he demanded.

"I bloody love your arms," Q gasped. "Every time I watch you on the shooting range, I just want to take bites out of them!" He leaned up and did just that, the nip made James gasp. Q flopped back down. James lowered himself to cover Q, feeling their hard cocks rubbing together. He arched into the sensation. Q reached round and grabbed James's buttocks, mashing their lower bodies tighter together. His left leg came up to wrap around James, and they dry humped each other almost furiously. A voice at the back of James's head insisted _this isn't right, you should be kneeling!_ but the sheer joy of sharing these feelings with Q overrode it.

Q pushed up, leveraging James onto his back, where he sat astride his waist. "I love you, James," he said. James looked up at Q mutely. Q leaned down until he was a bare inch from James's face. "I. Love. You." he repeated.

James struggled to open his mouth. He knew what he felt for Q was different, was more than he'd felt before, but was it love? Wasn't love just another form of weakness, a way for others to gain leverage? Yet again he fought down the panic, trying to reach the icy cold calm he drew on to be The Bond, but it wasn't there. Q shook his head sadly, and kissed down James's neck to suck and bite at his shoulders. His hand wrapped around James's hardness, squeezing and caressing his cock until James pushed his hips off the bed, mutely asking for more.

Q knelt between James's legs and bent to wrap his hot mouth around James's cock. James groaned. Q sucked hard, tonguing under the head, and James cried out. Q raised his head. "It's OK, you know," he said conversationally, "I'm not expecting miracles here." he dropped an affectionate kiss on the tip of James's cock. "I just want you to try and realise that we aren't just about the absolutes," a long, slow lick up James's length "or dominance," he cupped and rolled James's balls "or even the sex," he gripped and pulled teasingly "it's about us. What we both need. What we both want."

Q sucked and squeezed until James was right on the edge of orgasm, then looked up at him over his erection while his hand worked slowly and steadily, keeping James almost, but not quite there.

"When you're ready, I want to hear it, James, not before. This won't stop me loving you; I won't stop wanting to protect you; I won't give up on you. Take all the time you need." 

And with that he used his talented tongue to take James over, screaming and shuddering, Q swallowing everything he gave. Q collapsed at James's side, breathing heavily. James moved as if to reciprocate, but Q waved him away. “Just…hug me,” he said.

James snuggled into Q's side, breathing in their mixed scents, feeling the sweat drying prickly on their skin. He wasn't 'fixed', he didn't know if he ever would be, but he felt more whole and hopeful than he had in a very long time. He stretched up to share another one of those drugging, confusing kisses, and this time when the warm feeling bubbled up, he didn't feel quite so panicky. “Thank you, Q,” he murmured sleepily.

Q dropped a kiss on his damp blonde hair. “Well done, James,” he said, and hugged him close.


	3. Chapter 3

Q dropped his keys on the hall table and chucked his anorak over the back of a chair.

He rifled through the days' post distractedly; bill, junk mail, bill, postcard from Moneypenny (dear God, that woman!), then decided not to bother opening any of it. The flat was dark, but with James, that didn't mean anything. _Just because he has bloody cat eyes, he forgets the rest of us don't!_ Q thought affectionately. He called out a greeting, but got no answer. _Well, he's not on mission right now, so he must just be out,_ Q decided.

He wandered into the bedroom, shucking his clothes as he went.

Really, Q knew he was a terrible slob, but by now his untidiness was also one of those deliberate couple-y things that he did just to bug James. The sight of Her Majesty’s coldest, hardest agent picking up and folding Q's clothes (eyes narrowed and lips pursed like a disapproving housewife) never failed to make Q grin. In the subtle, constant negotiation that was their life together, little things like James’s obsessive neatness and Q's distracted tendency to put the wet spoons back in the coffee just provided moments of genuine domestic tension, relieving the stresses of two alpha males under one roof (one of whom struggled with expressing normal emotion at best of times). So, even though he was perfectly capable of picking up his own socks, Q didn't.

He was naked by the time he reached the bedside table and flicked the light on. Seeing a note, he paused. Q dropped onto the bed and picked the note up.

_It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,_

 _Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt._

 _

It lies behind stars and under hills,

And empty holes it fills.

It comes first and follows after,

Ends life, kills laughter.

-confused? Use your brain! J x

_

Q grinned, delighted. James knew how much he loved Lord of the Rings (the night they'd enacted the Bagginshield romance was one of Q's favourite memories) and was playing with the riddle scene! The answer to the riddle was 'dark', but Q obviously needed to figure out a dark place where the next clue was. He quickly shoved on a pair of ratty old jeans and a t-shirt, then sat down to puzzle it out.

Dark…dark…well, closets and cupboards were dark. But too obvious. James was a subtle man, with a deeply buried sense of the ridiculous. Q thought furiously for a bit, discarding ideas like sunglasses or inside a shoe – this 'dark' would be personal or meaningful… _Oh!_ He stood and dashed to the wardrobe, reaching in and stretching up to pull down a battered shoebox. Q crouched on the floor and riffled through it, finding at the bottom what'd he'd thought was his secret slab of Green & Black's 80% cocoa dark chocolate (he'd read studies that said it improved brain function and lowered blood pressure, so his excuse was he ate it to help him cope with work) with a post-it note on the back.

_A box without hinges, key or lid,_

 _Yet golden treasure inside is hid._

 _

\- you're cooking on gas! J x

_

Well, it wasn't going to be the egg of the original answer, they'd not got any in the fridge until they went shopping. Q turned the word 'egg' over in his mind, then decided to go looking for inspiration. He prowled round the flat trailing his fingers over the furniture, thinking hard. In the kitchen he opened and closed drawers, not really paying attention. He let his fiendish brain work without effort, and stood still in the middle of the kitchen; eyes blank, mouth moving soundlessly.

Suddenly, he grinned. "Cooking on gas!" he shouted, and leapt for the cupboard where the pans lived. There was an almighty clatter: James had booby-trapped it so that all the pan lids fell out when the door was opened. Q swore mildly, rummaged about, and pulled out a heavy, cast-iron omelette pan. He whooped when he found the post-it:

_What has roots as nobody sees,_

 _Is taller than trees,_

 _

Up, up, up it goes,

And yet never grows?

\- I'm feeling lonely! J x

_

_Mountains..._ Q thought. _Mountains?!?_ A flat in central London was notoriously short of topography, as was the surrounding environs. Added to which, there'd be no point taking the game outside. Hmm...

He made a detour into the bedroom for a couple of squares of brain-boosting chocolate, then went and sat down in the living room. This one was baffling. His eye fell upon a hideous little statuette sent last Christmas by Q's mad auntie in Switzerland. It had a Shepherd girl in a flouncy costume stood on top of a tiny, flower-strewn mountain. Q furrowed his brow. It was the only thing he could think of, but it didn't 'feel' right..he shoved to his feet and took the statuette off the shelf anyway. There was a note, but it said:

_\- TOO EASY! I'm feeling superior,now... J x_ Q smirked. Seriously, James was the absolute WORST punner ever. Taking 'mountains', 'lonely', and 'superior', led him to only one conclusion. Two steps had Q stood in front of the alphabetised DVD cabinet. He ran his index finger along the 'S' section until he came to 'Sound of Music (the)', and pulled the case out, opening it excitedly. Yes! A new post-it!

_\- Well done! Last one: What's in my pocketses? J x_

"It's not string," James said from behind Q.

Q whirled around - he hadn't heard James come in, but that was the downside of living with a trained assassin. He looked down to where James knelt, hands in his pockets.

"It's not string?" Q smiled.

"No," James said.

"Is it 'handses'?" Q guessed, staying in character.

"Technically, but no," James replied.

Q felt love and a ridiculous urge to giggle bubbling up inside him. "I gives up, Precious," he said quietly, badly impersonating Gollum.

James took his hands out of his pockets, and held his left one out. He slowly unfurled his fingers. Balanced on his palm was a plain, heavy gold ring.

"It's a ring," Q said stupidly.

"I know," James said.

"Why?" asked Q.

"Because," said James, "I've realised in the last few months how much I love you. I love your brain, your body, your wit, what you do to me, how you master me and give me space, even what a scruffy sod you are. I love you, Q. And I want, if you'll have me, to spend the rest of my life knowing I'm yours, and you are mine." He looked down, and when he lifted his eyes again, the beautiful blue was magnified by the tears which spilled down his cheeks. "Q...friend, lover, Master... Will you marry me?"

Humbled by James's courage in making himself vulnerable like this, and so very full of love Q, fell to his knees so that he and James were eye-to-eye, and held his shaking hand out.

"Yes!" he grinned, idiotically. "Oh, yes please, James!" James slid the ring onto Q's hand, and leaned forwards to place a soft kiss on his lips. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Q returned the kiss with fervour. "Thank you," he said. "Now...let's go and celebrate, love, shall we?" 

He stood and held out his hand. James took it and pulled himself up. His face was full of peace and happiness as he followed his Quartermaster, love, and fiancé from the room and into the next phase of their life together.


End file.
